


They Were Never Meant To Be

by imnotashadowclone



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, Mentions of Sex, au!, but only for a little, darkish, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotashadowclone/pseuds/imnotashadowclone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were never meant to be.</p>
<p>Because she is porcelain, so close to shattering, with her perfect surface chipping into pieces.<br/>Because he is fire and steel, a never ending cycle of melting and rebuilding, his surface twisted and harsh, but true as could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Were Never Meant To Be

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a piece I've been working on for a really, really, really, long time, so i hope you enjoy.  
> This has a some-what darkish side, but mostly happy near the end.

_They were never meant to be._

She’s lived a life of light; colours too bright to be a reality and plush, expensive things to keep her amused, dominated her entire upbringing.

He’s lived a life of darkness; broken toys and broken people were all he had ever known.

_They were never meant to be._

She was destined for the spotlight; effervescent and tremendous, made of charm and flawless, winning smiles.

He was destined for the shadows; wordless unless engaged in conversation, biting when he is, a marvellous study of calm and storm.

_They were never meant to be._

Because she is one of _them_ , and he is not.

_They were never meant to be._

Because she is porcelain, _so_ close to shattering, with her perfect surface chipping into pieces.

Because he is fire and steel, a never ending cycle of melting and rebuilding, his surface twisted and harsh, but true as could be.

_They were never meant to be._

But sometimes, on one of _those_ days, when everything feels so forced, so wrong, and the smiles she puts up feel just unreal; she chooses to forget.

On _those_ days, she finds him, back against a wall, eyes blue, blue, blue filled with their wary, solemn wisdom. He would turn his head, as always, a curious cock to the side, hands burrowing deep into his pockets.

And he would smile a wolfish smile; full of knives and fangs and sharp edges, a danger to even be exposed to.

_But never dangerous to her._

His only invitation is a raised palm.

This is a choice.

This is _the_ choice.

She could just as easily walk away.

(But that’s not true, she never could. Never would)

Like always she takes the offered hand; watches her slim pale fingers disappear into his long calloused digits.

XoX

_They were never meant to be._

And the feeling spreads like ice through her veins.

Flooding her systems till that all there is. Till she’s just the shell of Jemma, a puppet being led by her hand. Till she can’t think past the wrongness; of her breathing, loud, excited, and his, low, shallow; of her pulse, crashing with a chaotic rhythm in her throat, and his a close equal that she feels through his wrist, pressed against her own; of their sliding, roving, almost shy gazes, glancing along the other’s body; of how she is who she is and he is who he is; of how she _aches_ with him this close.

But this _is_ right.

This is the one truth she can always depend on.

(And how she clings to it.)

XoX

She often wondered about him before _this_ (whatever _this_ was).

She had wondered what kind of lover he would be.

She imagined him to be rough, impatient.

Harsh and demanding.

 And those thoughts had fulfilled her not-so-innocent fantasies.

Thinking of his hands curling around her wrists, like vices, of his lips trailing bruises in their wake as they trailed lower and lower, of his voice, rough and grating, as he demanded and commanded what he wanted, blue eyes pinning her in place, were the bare intrigue that held her in the night time and kept her from sleep.

Of course, she had had to improvise (she was Jemma Simmons, if anything she was adaptive), replacing his large hands and warm lips with her small, cold digits; his voice was from her own mind, whispering sinful things as she ( _he_ ) trailed and drifted along her body, making her gasp and bite back moans.

But then, nights and nights of dreams later, she discovered she was absolutely wrong.

He was a gentle lover.

Gone are the sharp edges that tear and cut skin and flesh.

All that’s left is Fitz; a stark contrast from the man from before, and she feels like she’s holding something delicate, fragile, every time she sees this side of him.

He would kiss and caress, as though she was the one, singular, most important thing in the entire world. His fingers were warm and calloused, ghosting along her skin again and again, till she was shivering. His lips were soft, fitting firmly with hers, brushing softly down her skin, feather-soft touches. He never spoke, like this was the one thing he had no place disturbing, like this was precious, at most a whispered murmur of her name strained and hissing.

After the first time, as they lay, her facing away, out of the window into the black sky, him curving, fitting behind her with a warm embrace and his nose buried into the crook of her neck, like he belonged  _here_ , she wondered if it’s the same, as those endless nights of imaginary words, imaginary hands, imaginary _him_.

_No._ She finally decided. 




_This is better._

XoX

They are a secret.

A code wrapped in a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and they both love it.

They are impossible by all logic, but perhaps, it works so well because they _are_ possible, just in their _own_ unknowable way.

It’s what she thinks as he pins her gently against the worn wooden wall, arms caging her in place, legs slipping between hers till the distance between them is a hairs-breath.

Then it’s just thoughts of his lips, barely touching her own before shying away, driving her breathless.

She lunges forward at the next pass, capturing his lips.

_This_ is what makes it worth it. Lips moulding over hers with silent worship, fitting, sliding against one another, her fingers tangling with his hair, brown in the half-light of the moon, shining brightly through the window, his fingers pulling her close by her waist, before snaking one up the length of her back to cradle her neck, soft tendrils of hair curtaining his hands, warming her with just that single touch.

_This_ ; teasing touches, drifting lower and lower, clothes rustling as they’re tugged off of warm skin, lips quickly taking their place, her fingers brushing against his stubble, his fingers splaying across her back, eyes meeting, blue turning silver in the moonlight, brown to black in the shadows.

_This_ ; whispered words of encouragement as she moved over him, the almost pained _groan_ that was employed for his rendition of her name, her equally drawn rendition of his, the thrumming electronic beat that filters through the floorboard having no meaning to either, they’re just  too lost in one another.

_This_ ; when later, she sleeps, draped across him, fingers lazily interlocked, her head nestled on his chest, ear firmly pressed to his ribs, his other hand brushing sleepily through her tangled locks, breathing her own perfume, lilac and something vaguely metallic, and his, mahogany and scotch and fire, and contemplating how oddly perfect they are together.

_This_ ; when he presses a kiss to her hair, and whispers those three words.

_I love you._

XoX

Jemma Simmons could count on both her hands those rare, _precious_ moments in her life when everything seemed to simply fall in place; when the unsolvable just became solvable.

(This was most definitely one of those moments.)

XoX

_They were always meant to be._

It just takes her four more words to let him know that this was always the truth.

XoX

_I love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> If there are any errors feel free to inform.


End file.
